Emergency Engagement (Love Emergency 1)

Aw, fuck. This wasn’t about the damn dress. She was crumbling under guilt.

She sobbed harder, her tears soaking through his shirt, and now guilt—and something else he refused to name—formed an uncomfortable weight in his stomach. “Don’t cry. Please. There’s nothing for you to feel bad about. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I’m lying to our families. I’m a big lying liar.”

He pulled a towel off the rack above their heads, tipped her face up, and dried her tears. “You’re helping me heal my relationship with my parents, and you don’t deserve to spend a second feeling conflicted about it. What you’re doing means a lot to me.” He tightened his hold on her. “You mean a lot to me.” A flood of words gathered in his throat, but he swallowed them. He had a bad feeling what spilled out would break their “no complications” rule beyond repair.

As if it already isn’t, for you. You shattered the rule the first time you kissed her, and letting her go will feel like ripping open a wound you never should have left vulnerable in the first place.

The only thing he could avoid at this point was inflicting any wounds on her. “Any fallout from this is on me, understand?”

Sinclair coughed. He’d been so intent on easing Savannah’s conscience he’d forgotten she still stood there. “I’m going to go check on the moms,” she said quietly. “Give you two a chance to talk.”

He was racking up all kinds of debts to the Smith sisters. “Thanks.”

Savannah sniffed and rubbed her eyes. “We’ll be out in five.”

“Take your time,” she said, and shut the door behind her.

…

“How are you feeling?”

Savannah opened her eyes and stared into Beau’s. They’d said goodbye to their moms and Sinclair, and she’d wandered back to his bedroom and flopped across the bed while he’d washed up the coffee mugs. No leaving dishes until tomorrow for him.

“I’m okay.” Between washing her face, brushing her teeth, and downing two painkillers and a bottle of water, she felt almost human. The soft light from the bedside lamp didn’t hurt, either. She reached up and brushed her fingers through his hair. “Sorry about tonight. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I got stressed, and I didn’t handle it well.”

He gave her a quick smile and then flexed his arms and slowly lowered his body to hers. “Trust me, Smith. I’d be stressed to the breaking point if I spent the day dress shopping with our moms. Lucky for you”—he paused and bestowed a gentle kiss at her temple—“I know a foolproof”—another pause, another kiss on the opposite temple—“stress reliever.”

God, she was easy. She raised her chin and parted her lips, already anticipating the pressure of his mouth on hers. Instead he lifted himself off her. Before she could utter a word of protest, he swept her red sweater over her head and flipped her around so she lay facedown on the mattress.

“Um”—she popped her head up—“I’m not so sure this constitutes a foolproof stress relieverrrrr…” Her words trailed off as big, warm hands moved her hair out of the way and went to work on the sore spot where her neck met her shoulders. “Never mind.” Her muscles dissolved and her forehead hit the mattress. “I was wrong.”

“Too hard? Too soft?”

“No, no.” Those magic hands moved

to her shoulders, and she bit back a moan. Sort of. “Just right.”

“Then relax.” He leaned in and his words feathered over her skin. “I told you I’d take care of you.”

His palms slid down her back, along either side of her spine. Every sweep of his thumbs released tension she hadn’t even realized her body held. Even her head felt better. He wrung the aches out like water from a sponge. When his thumbs found the dimples bracketing the base of her spine and pressed firmly, she groaned with relief.

Warm lips brushed the small of her back. Heat flowed in to replace the pain, and even though it felt like heaven, she raised herself onto her elbows and tried to roll away. Heat she could handle. There’d been heat between them from the very start. But this—his hands and mouth moving over her with tender yet erotic touches—made it too easy for her to feel cherished. Cared for. Loved. He made it too easy to let her soft heart hope for things she knew damn well he didn’t want to offer. Case in point? The debate she’d been having with herself about passing on the fellowship and accepting the offer from the gallery. How much of her indecision stemmed from her desire to stay right here, in his arms, enjoying moments like this?

Too much.

His hand at the center of her back stopped her roll. “Did I hit a sore spot?”

“No.” She blew her hair out of her face. “You hit all the right spots. No need for the seduction. I’m good to go.”

He settled her against the bed again and trapped her hips between his knees. “What part of ‘I’ll take care of you’ did you not understand?”

“The part where I had to lie here with a bad case of lady blue balls while you sat on me?”

He laughed, but only moved to shift himself lower. “Now you know. Shut up and let me finish my job.”

She shut up, closed her eyes, and somehow endured as he trailed his mouth up her spine, using his tongue to trace every single vertebra. The whiskers on his cheeks and jaw tickled her skin, and she nearly squirmed. Quick fingers unclasped her bra and then teased the sides of her breasts while he nibbled her shoulder.